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While many scenes still employ shot-for-shot manga panel reproductions, there are images with slight deviations — the line of sight regarding Kasuga, his copy of

, and Saeki’s bag; the lack of overemphasized blushing; and the non-transparent bag below Kasuga’s desk — that seem most pertinent. Additions such as Kasuga’s initial slow, defeated drop to his knees; its reprise; and prayer-like invocations of Les Fleurs de Mal excerpts increase the depth of shame that now feels only alluded to by the manga and offer myriad talking points. But all is not doom. Somewhat surprising are the interjections of humor — Kasuga’s flight and the suspicion sight gag, which manage to add a bit of welcome levity without completely distracting from the established atmosphere of anxiety and isolation.

David: I don’t know, Ink, scenes like the bike scene have me worried for how some of the upcoming pivotal moments will end up being adapted. For one, it reveals a serious disconnect between the actor in real life and his voice, where the actor on the screen has his features and gestures blotted out by the nature of the rotoscoping technique, severing the voice from its source. What we end up with is a human-shaped mass failing to wobble its way out of the uncanny valley to the point where the rotoscoping is no longer just weird and mysterious, it’s actually detracting from the quality of the acting, keeping the technique from reaching the absolute minimum as an animation where I can take it seriously.

So I won’t take it seriously. The Flowers of Evil is a fine manga, but it’s not translating into a great show. At least, not as far as Episode 2 goes. As it stands, it’s not succeeding in its attempts to allegedly break the conventions set by modern anime and has me thinking perhaps they should have just stayed with a live-action adaptation.

Episode 3:

David: It’s Episode 3 and we’re still going on about the gym uniform. Kasuga can’t seem to get rid of the thing and the show doesn’t seem to be in any rush to pick up the pace to get past it either. The show is filled with dead air that, while it can be used for dramatic effect, has me exasperated waiting for the really wild moments of Flowers. I complained about Kasuga’s acting before, and while watching a spineless and bumbling protagonist is never enjoyable, it is what’s expected of the character. That said, I am a little bummed that Nakamura’s performance is . . . not great, but it’s not bad either. The first episode established a mood that unfortunately I have not felt this Nakamura has lived up to. She’s not so menacing anymore, she’s just really weird. Sure, Nakamura’s strange in the manga, but she also has a dangerous side to her that isn’t coming through in the show. Instead, the direction is already diving into the inevitable sexual tension between Nakamura and Kasuga before even getting around to Kasuga’s relationship with Saeki, which kind of works better than a lot of other things the show has tried to do but is still getting ahead of itself.

Perhaps I’m guilty of assigning specific voices and mannerisms to these characters, but I can’t help but to disagree with the way a lot of the content is being adapted. The minor characters are excellent, so I can’t seem to figure out how to salvage the leads short of projecting my own ideas onto the show with enough determination to warp the reality of the situation.

Ink: As wonderful as Mariya Ise is in portraying a nigh-biopolar tsundere (if only a bit too bubbly during the more manic moments), I’ll side with David in that she doesn’t quite carry the same air of malicious intent as her manga counterpart. Her efforts in that area feel betrayed at times, as David mentioned, when her heated or rapid speech is misrepresented by the slowness of the rotoscoping. While immediately unpalatable, this effect evokes a disconnect that David mentioned earlier in disgust but which I find quite impressive if taken to represent the difference between Kasuga’s consternation and the actual pace of the moment. In short, everything appears slow and out of whack as if some nightmarish scenario is taking place . . . because it is. When Shinichiroh Ueda erupts as Kasuga, the jerkier movements observed through a shaky camera seem better matched through more careful animation (though still anywhere near perfect, and I’ll get to that later), revealing a reactionary refocusing.

Yes, the pacing is slow, and it would be infuriatingly so if it didn’t work so well in the sense of drama building David spoke of or serve as contrast for moments like the changing scene in the library in this episode. That scene. THAT scene. Oh, man, that scene. As surprised as I was that they even included it in such detail, I was more impressed with the tact and power behind its execution. Viewers will solidly feel Nakamura’s sadistic rapture and Kasuga’s bewildered helplessness. Most of all, however, viewers will feel the rush only made possible by such action cutting through the “dead air” set in place by the preceding scenes. And it’s this sense of exhilaration that begins to sow the seeds for the cultivation of the flower of evil within Kasuga.

Episode 4:

Ink: Even though Kasuga’s consciously befuddled as to why he stood up to his classmates accusing Nakamura of stealing, viewers have a clue. Reality’s mask, however, encourages Kasuga’s white knight mindset after an interchange with Saeki, following which the world is naught but pop melodies and rainbow-crapping koalas . . . at least for a little bit. Nakamura stumbles upon Kasuga’s happiness and keeps him guessing as to the true, multilayered intent behind her all too eager encouragement until almost the very last moments of this episode.

After being slapped in the face by Kasuga’s inattentive daydreaming, Nakamura’s machinations step things up a notch in order to expose everything under his “mask.” The resulting sense of horror is foreshadowed by the creepiness brought on by the slow animation but amplified when it stops altogether, such as when Kasuga sits at his desk and overhears his classmates’ still-lipped murmurs rumors about himself and Nakamura. This is, of course, not something entirely out of the equation; Kasuga makes the same assumption during the bathroom scene, which consequently and effectively uses the building of ambient sounds, slightly shaky camera, and Mariya Ise’s dead-on laughter and screaming to send shivers down spines.

David: Being the merciful person that I am, I’ve been making a case of looking for more things that work well in Flowers as opposed to things that don’t. Kasuga’s still a punk and Nakamura hasn’t done anything interesting yet, but for some inexplicable reason, Saeki, the least interesting corner of this triangle of misfits, is the best-realized character. I’ve always thought of Yoko Hikasa as an excellent voice actress who deserves more serious roles, and while I wish it would have been in something other than this interpretation of The Flowers of Evil, it’s refreshing to hear her voice a “real” character. It helps that the gestures and mannerisms of the live actress playing Saeki match very closely with Yoko Hikasa’s delivery of her lines. For once, there’s a real connection between the animated character and the vocal performance that isn’t broken up by the rotoscoping.

Episode 5:

David: I was worried when I saw a .gif of Nakamura running through rainbow sparkles and bubbles before watching the episode and those worries were completely founded. It’s not like the direction is entirely incompetent; the studio has been following the manga close to the letter and has some good ideas about building atmosphere, but then they bungle their own designs by introducing some of the goofiest visual effects into a story grounded in reality. We move through Kasuga’s date with Saeki without much incident, save those rainbows, but the blooper reel-style replay on Kasuga’s impromptu shower was the worst — missing the feel of the manga by a mile.

For what it’s worth, Flowers has been great at surprising me every week with some incredibly audacious thing that rarely turns out well in terms of its creative direction. In that regard, I almost look forward to the next episode each week. However, at this stage, I have little faith that my favorite scenes from the manga will be executed in a way that isn’t completely offensive to my tastes.

Ink: Aku no Hana finally exemplifies how its form follows function. “I’m going to peel it all off. All the skin you’re hiding behind,” is the manga’s translation of Nakamura’s line from the previous chapter (“strip” in the flashback), either of which is much stronger than the anime’s cliché  “I’ll expose everything under that mask of yours,” but both carry the same implication: breaking through the lie of the everyday lived by a person pretending to be like those who surround him. How’s this apply to rotoscoping? On his date with Saeki, Kasuga dresses in layers according to Nakamura’s demand; regular clothes worn over a fetishized prize represents normality hiding perversion, which parallels how the awkward animation layered over live action seems an ugly, unnatural, and uncomfortable mask. This notion is furthered via Kasuga’s comment of how “The really scary part is inside” when explaining his favorite book, Les Fleurs du Mal, to Saeki in a bookstore after she comments on how off-putting the cover is.

However, I have to agree with David in that breaking from illustrating reality to coloring in Kasuga’s imagination comes off as silly. Nakamura’s giddy flitting from one side of the street to the other while stalking the couple’s first date is fitting enough, but lingering on the manga’s single panel of 70’s psychedelia hurts the anime by detracting too much from the building tension; it makes a joke of the chuckle. Other little tidbits I didn’t much care for include the repeated use of transparency to remind viewers of what Kasuga is wearing, when Nakumara’s actions near the end provide a natural excuse for such exposure; the introduction and overuse of over-emphasized blushing; and the gratuitous takes of Nakamura’s dump on Kasuga, which (everything David said) detracts from the true shock of the moment.

"PIANO ME" will be a live solo piano performance, augmented by live video effects that react to Kanno's playing. In a video announcement (included above), Kanno performs part of her unmistakable Cowboy Bebop opener, "Tank" on a piano that seems to be the canvas for a live video projection. A line across the piano vibrates with the intensity of her performance, showing a taste of what we can expect this summer from the composer.

I'm a huge fan of Kanno's music, so seeing her in person and watching what looks to be an awesome experimental live performance from her sounds like a dream come true to me. Are you planning on going down to Otakon this year? We are, so you can look forward to coverage of lots of events (including Kanno's performance) this summer on Ani-Gamers!

Each story revolves around Yamaoka Shiro, a reporter for Tozai News, tasked with building the “Ultimate Menu,” a selection of food and drink that epitomizes Japanese cuisine, in celebration of the paper’s centennial. Each chapter stands on its own, except for the aforementioned six-parter whose collective chapters stand on their own together, and features Yamaoka questing to right some aspect of ignorance pertaining to Japanese food culture via his encyclopedic knowledge as well as some help from his mentors and friends.

Stories concerning the exploration of food pairings, garnering love for certain drinks by distinguishing the cream of their respective crops from half-hearted imitations, and helping solve others’ problems via the procurement of outrageously good alcohol brings me back to Drops of God, which obviously took notes from this manga. Likewise, inspiration must’ve been drawn from how Oishinbo gave the labels, their bottles, and the shops that sell them get the most artistic attention. The cast in Oishinbo, however, is definitely comprised of cartoons that serve more as vehicles for explaining food culture than they are characters in their own right. Still, a concerted effort is made to make the interactions betwixt characters light and humorous enough to balance the dry, albeit interesting lessons on history and brewing processes.

Tasting notes are similarly faceless, never coming close to approaching the flowery, indulgent, over-the top (read: hilarious) portraiture in Drops of God. In fact, most of the tasting notes in Oishinbo are downright vague by comparison. While the descriptions help distinguish body range and olfactory strength, not much elaboration is to be found on what exactly the scents of said alcohols are reminiscent of. This seems a shame given the manga’s main point of highlighting the bottles which exemplify Japanese culture, but again, as a primer/springboard, what Oishinbo offers is more than enough. Taste, after all, varies widely from tongue to tongue, and if this manga is meant more as a guidebook than tasting guide, than it fulfills its purpose. Readers can get a grasp on basics and then venture out on their own to see how their palate agrees or disagrees with specific brewers’ bottles.

Aside from bottle picking practicality, Oishinbo also excels in imbuing its audience, or at least me, with zeal for the guys behind the curtains: the rice grinders, the brewmasters. Processes behind the wines and liquors native to Japan are described as to invoke a sense of national pride or disgust, respect or abhorrence, based on their observance of history or their betrayal of it, respectively. But all is not in the past. Like the craft beer explosion here in the USA, Japan’s smaller sake breweries have, as told by one story in this volume, reinvigorated a market almost rendered irrelevant by the effects war once had on sake production and the lingering greed of larger producers. In effect, Oishinbo sows nostalgia by explaining how contemporary efforts are directed at returning to the past in terms of process but utilize currently available technology to become even better instead of remaining stagnant. Given how much I was moved while reading as a connoisseur of wines and spirits, I can only imagine the effect this manga would have on Japanese readers.

If you’ve yet to try sake or other choice Japanese alcoholic beverages, or if you’ve tried some and not found anything you’ve liked, Oishinbo: Sake might provide some enlightenment as to what to try and why. It will definitely provide a couple of good chuckles via throwaway gags and alcoholic caricatures. Either way, I think Oishinbo is an enjoyable read. The drier aspects of tasting are brief, but the overarching themes of history and pride are portrayed in either beautiful detail or with a goofiness that turns the pages at a pace which makes this volume end all too soon.

Because CPAC is a smaller con located right across from NYC in Hoboken, NJ, attendees get the best of both worlds. Those who attend panels will find a goodly mix of newcomers as well as local, seasoned veterans offering up tried-and-true and new material. For its size and duration, CPAC also manages to celebrate a decent slice of otaku culture. This year saw, in addition to the usual video and gaming rooms, a maid café, a J-pop “concert,” karaoke, U.S. anime industry talent, several distinct cosplay-based events, and more.

The location for the con hasn’t changed since 2008, and the allotted space, which has grown since, seemed about the same as I remember from a couple years ago; I was unfortunately unable to attend last year. Despite a continually growing attendance, the six buildings throughout which the con’s events were distributed seemed more than enough to handle attendance. The same can be said for the combined Dealers Room/Artists Alley, which offered a little bit of almost everything concerning the usual fare but with an appreciated emphasis on crafts from Artists Alley.

Guests this year included accomplished VA Kyle Hebert and FUNimation’s own multi-talented and -tasked Mike McFarland, both of whom were in Q&A sessions and ended up sharing a panel on voice acting in video games. Aside from pimping her original work, Sacred, author and illustrator Lizbeth R. Jimenez gave a panel on publishing manga in the USA. Other talent included the likes of All Geeks Considered’s own Vinnie Averello, whose panels were basically responsible for opening and closing the con; aspiring J-pop singer/cover band leader Hitomi Himekawa, with Rainbow Bubbles; and nerd improv comedy group UProv Comedy, with founder Ian Rubin.

When I first started attending this con, cosplay was scarce. Its presence has been building since, and this year costumes seemed omnipresent . . .  and with some choice (according to my tastes of course) characters. The few that made me stop and run them down for a picture were Nana Osaki from Nana, Shana from Shakugan no Shana, and Lamia from Beelzebub. There was also a wonderful Vanellope von Schweetz from Wreck it Ralph, of whom I would've loved to have gotten a better photo but didn’t see outside of the Cosplay Dating Game panel. Proving cosplay is about heart and imagination, there were also cosplayers whose renditions of Dr. Wily from Mega Man and Aku from Samurai Jack just emanated love; the latter had a dedicated cape waver!!!

Unfortunately, there was no live musical guest this year. There was, however, a dance party soundtracked by the promising and formidable collection college radio allows. I'd love to say I stayed to enjoy the music, but having a 9-to-5, combined with con being on a Sunday, I forewent the dance to sample some fine cuisine with friends before heading home.

What makes CPAC stand out to me is its laid back, celebratory atmosphere; the opportunity to see a diverse range of panels from an equally diverse range of panelists; and its backyard accessibility. The latter probably accounts for why I initially started attending, but I keep coming back for what it offers: opportunity, heart, and love. It's that simple. It's also an absolute joy just to watch a con that celebrates the medium/culture you enjoy grow and mature.

Shifting dynamics is the name of the game in the following episode. When Megumu internalizes the wishes of the team to become a more assertive player, her emboldened determination presents a larger challenge to Chihaya. Another change can be seen in the disruption caused by the difference in implementation of vocal reinforcement betwixt Yu and Akashi and Mashima and Mizusawa; Yu speaks out of place, while Mashima fulfills his role. Furthermore, whereas Megumu reclaiming her role from Yu as the voice of inspiration should bring a solidifying effect to the team, the correction of the initial disturbance actually causes a second distraction. On the opposite side, team Mizusawa following Mashima’s encouragement, being par for the course, rights the team’s collective empathetic focus and refocuses each member’s attention on the task at hand. Since Mizusawa's members share a unified disposition, this ebb and flow of the situation is more like an an emotional wave which serves to empower rather than distract like Akashi's internal state of chaotic flux.  It doesn’t take a team, however, to show how this series focuses on the importance of collective support.

As the epitome of the individual — the monarch who considers team-based matches merely recreational, reigning queen Shinobu’s disposition and desire to play Arata on the day of team matches is an important one. Arata represents the team player even though he’s come alone to the team match event and is intent on playing in the individual matches. After all, he's already risked his chances at doing so for the sake of helping out a team with which he is less intimate (ok, to which he’s barely related), and then he balks at the reigning queen’s goad by invoking the team-based nature of the day when invited by Shinobu to a friendly on-on-one match to “kill some time.” All this from a scene that lasts but a few minutes, but such is the power of established characters and the theme of team in Chihayafuru 2.

As Mizusawa advances, the power that comes from the scenes based on the performance from established Mizusawa members is about equal to the effects reaped from the development of the newer members’ deepening love for/commitment to karuta. Dropped jaws of Mizusawa newcomers regarding the established team’s efforts, coupled with double-takes to certain situations and stepped-up legitimate concern for the team, reveal those holding onto the lower rungs of a nigh foreign sport are doing so with only their increasing passion for strength. I’d like to believe this is foreshadowing for the upcoming Mizusawa vs. Fujisaki match, where team dynamics change once again.

Fujisaki High School’s karuta coach is infamous for subbing in a lower level player for one who is of a higher Class at the last moment. This is done on the assumption that the experienced players are getting tired from subsequent matches and the hope that the fresh blood will inspire the senior members to victory. (I don’t quite get it either, unless it’s a “Work harder; you’ve got a handicap” routine.) As luck would have it, there’s a unfortunate event that leads to a change in Mizusawa’s lineup which enables the same sort of switcheroo. Whereas Fujisaki’s play is cold and calculated, Mizusawa’s is a heartfelt misfortune. Will that be the difference that wins the match? I haven’t the foggiest, because the episode which followed was a freakin’ recap episode. And instead of summarizing/reviewing that, here’s a (m)Oe pic:

The second season of Chihayafuru is currently streaming on Crunchyroll.